


stand alone

by 875857



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, zombies man, zombies.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/875857/pseuds/875857
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombie Apocalypse!AU. The world goes to shit, and Arthur Penn wakes up from a coma to remember that he’s the goddamn king of Camelot. </p><p>(But more importantly, Merlin wonders if breaking that mirror seven years ago is the cause of all this.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	stand alone

He really, _really_ has to piss.

But the thing about zombie apocalypses is that you can't go off peeing willy-nilly, _oh no_. Merlin has learned that is a big red flag in this shithole existence. All sorts of bad stuff happens when you let your guard down, and using the restroom, well, your pants are around your ankles and you've sometimes got one hand on your dick. You're vulnerable, it's like painting a target on your back with your own blood.

Another thing that you shouldn't do is travel alone - it just means the hordes will overrun you more easily. It doesn't matter if you're Bruce fucking Willis, you are just one person. One slip up and you're done. You are one against hundreds, thousands. That's Merlin's opinion, at least.

But Merlin, against his better judgement, is doing exactly that at the moment.

He presses himself into the small janitorial closet, shotgun held closed to his chest as he listens for the tell-tale sign of moaning and shuffling across dirty linoleum. Of all the places to get himself trapped in, it’s a fucking high school. Merlin _hated_ high school - too many people obsessed with images and being popular and yeah, maybe Merlin’s a bitter loser who got made fun of because of his ears so _shut up_ , he’s heard all the jokes before.

College was much better, but seeing as Merlin was only twenty when the shit hit the fan, he hadn’t had a chance to appreciate it fully. _Hey_ , the bright side is that he isn’t drowning in debt.

The not so bright side is that he’s drowning in rotten flesh and infected blood. It seemed like a good idea at the time, to find shelter here for the night - but then one of the zombies had apparently bumped into a car and set off an alarm. Just his luck, really, and through one of the cracked windows Merlin had seen a medium sized horde ambling their way towards the school. He’d also taken a look at his shotgun, the two boxes of shells in his pack, the bat tied to it and realized that, magical powers or no magical powers, he won’t be able to bullshit his way out of this.

Of course one would think the magic is a helpful bonus, and _yes_ , usually Merlin would be inclined to agree. Unfortunately, his magic isn't exactly the most reliable thing. It's good for lighting fires and playing ridiculous pranks on your old neighbor's tiny chihuahua, sure. But fighting zombie hordes? He feels safer with a gun - even if they jam.

He moves to the back of the closet, crouched close to the ground and trying to keep his breathing level. He’s a sitting duck here, he knows, he just has no choice but to wallow in the filthy debris until the zombies filter out and away. Then he'll sprint like mad and try his hardest not to die.

But then Arthur comes along and shatters those plans.

"Merlin!" a voice quietly calls from somewhere in the hall, and Merlin nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Where are you?"

Merlin's eyes widen with horror because he recognizes the voice and the fucking idiot is going to get them both _killed_. Just his luck, just his _goddamn_ luck.

But really, _luck_. What an agonizing concept. Seven years ago, Merlin remembers accidentally breaking a big mirror in his mother’s old house. A gargantuan, elaborate thing propped up in the corner of their living room and Merlin didn't mean to throw the Wiimote, it just _happened_.  Now sometimes Merlin wonders if everything bad that’s happened to him since has just been a result of superstitious sayings. Hell, maybe Merlin caused the Apocalypse, maybe Merlin is the reason Elyan’s gun keeps jamming, or that baked beans in a can are the one item they have a surplus of.

He hears the squeak of boots on the ground and Merlin considers just staying quiet and letting the source of the voice die. But Merlin can't, he's too good of a person.

He'll have to stop these altruistic habits of his someday, he resolves as he opens the janitor's closet and makes quick _come here_ motions.

"Get in here, you idiot." He tries to keep his voice down, and there's a funny feeling in his stomach when blond hair and blue eyes trots his way to Merlin's hiding spot. Merlin shuts the door behind them, yanking the other close and hissing.

"What the hell are you doing?! You're going to get yourself - or worse, the _both_ of us killed!"

"You were gone for too long," the other says, shrugs, and smiles. Merlin wants to punch that smile off his face.

Arthur Penn strolled into his life only two weeks prior, with his smug face and confident swagger and proud stance that contrasts heavily against Merlin's slumped posture. And if his existence wasn't annoying enough, he proceeded to try and insert himself into every facet of Merlin's life. And succeeded.

(The group Merlin usually travels with just so happens to be led by his sister, and the entire reunion had been a mixture of disbelief and Morgana slapping Arthur across the face before hugging him. That was fun.

Though, really, who thought it was likely for someone to wake up from a coma and somehow not get torn apart within a week?)

He thinks he can recognize attraction well enough and he's definitely getting the signs from Arthur. Now, usually, Merlin would be all up for a shag or a quick rut in a safe house, but Arthur seems to have other things on his mind.

And by that, Merlin means he has no idea what Arthur wants, other than to be an annoying, supercilious _twat_. Arthur has this weird way of looking at Merlin, and it almost makes him wonder if Arthur is one of those secret serial killers just waiting to strike. If he wasn't Morgana's brother, Merlin would have clocked him long ago.

Actually, he’s tried.

And if Arthur didn't have such fast reflexes, he'd have succeeded.

"So you decide to follow me?" He asks, face twisted with confusion.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Arthur says, like stalking a guy you've only known for two weeks while he's trying to find supplies on his own is normal protocol. The look on his face reminds Merlin alarmingly of a puppy, and no, no no no - he is not going to think Arthur’s strange stalking is endearing in any way whatsoever.

"You're so weird. I can't believe I'll be spending my last moments with you, because we certainly aren't getting out of his." Merlin groans and shoves Arthur away. He rubs a hand down his face.

Arthur rolls his eyes and reaches to his waist to grab his sword.

Did Merlin mention that? He actually carries a sword. A _fucking_ sword. It's the weird icing on a weird cake for a weird, obscure holiday in a weird foreign country. Who the fuck carries a sword?

Arthur says he looted it from an antiques shop, but Merlin doesn't believe him.

"Don't be so dramatic. We're not going to die here, Merlin." Arthur scoffs at him, like he’s an idiot, and Merlin feels his eyebrow tic. Arthur is shuffling to the door, cracking it open slightly and peeking out. Merlin resists the urge to yank Arthur back, but the knowledge that Arthur isn’t completely incompetent holds him back.

In fact, Arthur is strikingly good with that sword, and just as accurate with a gun. Nor is he always a prat, it seems - at least to anyone who isn’t Merlin. Merlin stares at the nape of his neck, light weakly filtering in from the hall. Arthur’s tanned skin peeks out from under the fabric of his red hoodie, and Merlin swallows around a lump in his suddenly dry throat.

“I know a mostly clear path out of here.” Arthur says, turning back to Merlin.

“Do you really?” Merlin is proud that his voice doesn’t crack in any way, or that the sass he returns doesn’t waver. It’s incredibly hard to fight between attraction and irritation, Merlin swears. Arthur rolls his eyes and opens the door, before stepping out. Merlin considers staying where he is, but his feet seem to have other ideas.

Merlin really has no choice but to follow him, does he?

 

 

 

 

Merlin definitely had a choice, and that choice was _staying inside the fucking janitor’s closet_. But _no_ , he followed Arthur out of some weird, compulsive urge and now he’s fighting for his life.

It isn’t really Arthur’s fault, though. The path had been mostly clear until they came upon a small group out by the parking lot as they ducked between the abandoned wrecks of cars.

The fight for their lives has Merlin's blood pumping, and the next thing Merlin knows, his magic is surging out from under his fingertips, through the bat, and the zombie is thrown back several feet. Merlin feels like a goddamn allstar. His jaw falls open, the bat clattering to the ground.

Merlin is stunned by the feeling of magic coursing through his veins, the crackle of power as they flicker over his arms like electricity. He examines the front and back, a wild, almost manic smile growing on his face.

But for a moment he freezes and looks up to see if Arthur noticed.

"Ah yes, that's wonderful and mystical, you have magic. I already knew, you moron, now could you close your mouth and _use it_ , for god's sake?" Arthur says, swinging at a zombie with his sword. It lops off an arm, and the limb flops on the ground. Merlin laughs at the absurdity of it all.

For the first time in a long, long time, he feels giddy.

"Merlin!"

Seven years later, maybe his bad luck is finally ending.

"A little help!?"

Merlin sighs, but there's a small smile on his face. He picks up the bat from the ground and rolls his wrist.

Maybe not quite yet.

**Author's Note:**

> [don't _speak_ , you're not that smart. so, _please_ , pipe down, _hush_ a minute. look now, i cut you off, i _cut_ you _off_. they say keep your friends _close_ and keep your enemies _closer_. but _i'm_ the rebel type to never do what i'm supposed to. yeah, _i'm_ the rebel type to never do what i'm supposed to.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHjYRSQCQ2M)
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> anyway, unbetad. written while frazzled during writing my bigbang.


End file.
